


Split in Two

by SkylineStarryEyed



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As i know him from the 2018 film, Eddie Brock - Freeform, Eventual Smut, Face Reveal, Friends to Lovers, Identity Reveal, Insecure Wade Wilson, Love Triangle, M/M, Meeting, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Secret Identity, Secrets, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends, but spidey is confident, lying, peter is a waiter, protective!wade, shy!peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2020-09-23 21:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylineStarryEyed/pseuds/SkylineStarryEyed
Summary: Spiderman goes on a mission with Doctor Strange and the results certainly are strange. Taking place after Thanos' death, Peter is officially an adult and on his own. After Aunt May passes away he feels like he has no one. That's where Deadpool comes in. Spiderman has met Deadpool plenty of times before, but Wade has never met Peter. Now Wade is a frequent customer where Peter works and Peter isn't sure how to juggle the relationships between Wade and his two identities. As they get closer and Wade pulls away, another man comes into the mix. Can Wade get over his hang ups to be with Peter, or will our web slinging hero end up with a certain journalist who is keeping his own secrets?





	1. Peter's First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> The description for this will probably change as i hammer it out into a more solid idea.  
My second Spideypool fic, and a Brain Child I've been brewing for a while. It's an action packed first chapter if you can get past my initial ramblings.  
TW Cancer.

Working in a restaurant was made so much easier with the help of mutant powers. Especially when those powers included super-human strength, perfect balance, enhanced reflexes, and fingers that can stick to any surface. Before he got his powers, there was no way Peter could have managed a restaurant job, but after he graduated high school and moved into his own place, he realized he would need a gig with no qualifications and a flexible schedule. 

It was a little place called Rita’s. The building wasn’t very generous in width, but it made up for it in depth, creating a winding maze of two dining rooms and a bar with a kitchen in the middle. At one point, it was two separate buildings, but Rita had bought both and knocked out the walls. It was all plaster and exposed brick with plastic creeping vine hot glued to the more damaged areas. Rita had built this little restaurant from the ground up with no help. She was an older woman with an ex-husband and grown children. She mainly hired people from her extended family, or the immediate surrounding community and it was always a rotating cast. Peter had been there about a year now and he still felt like the new kid from time to time. Honestly, Peter had only applied because he was desperate, he and Aunt May had eaten there once while apartment hunting, but he had grown to love Rita like family. Plus, the uniforms didn’t suck, so he couldn’t complain. 

He wasn’t the best waiter, he knew. He was a little shy and awkward when it came to talking to the guests, but he always got the job done and he never dropped a tray. Rita loved him, though he suspected she knew he abused the fifty percent off employee discount on food. Sometimes he would eat nothing but Rita’s for a week because he couldn’t afford anything else. But as long as he kept up the good work, she wasn’t going to say anything about it. 

After high school, Peter got into college, just like he wanted. He commuted from home for a while until he saved up enough money for an apartment while working at a little grocery store. Then he moved into a small studio that he got for a steal, and he found a new job that let him do the school thing plus the Spidey thing. He was twenty-three now, a proper adult. Still a waiter, but only one year left on his degree. Life was good… until it wasn’t.

Aunt May got sick. Cancer. About two months after Peter moved out, she showed up at his door one day to tell him in person. They cried together on his couch for a while that day. It was too advanced by the time they found it, so the doctors had sent her home. Peter moved back into his old bedroom in her house for the couple of months she had left, and they spent every possible moment together. Losing her was worse than losing his parents. Worse than losing Ben. Even worse than losing Mr. Stark. Peter felt like he was only then truly becoming an orphan. He was officially alone in the world. 

So, he stuck with the remaining Avengers. They didn’t meet up as often as they used to since the missing members were a band of ghosts no one wanted to face. Peter teamed up from time to time with whichever member needed him. They weren’t family, but it was nice to have some consistent faces besides Rita in his life. 

His favorite was Thor. No matter what Thor needed, it was always an adventure. Peter was happy to assist and watch Thor’s gladiator style of fighting. His least favorite was Doctor Strange. He could never understand what was happening with that guy. Still, when the phone rang, he answered it. Peter had teamed up with Deadpool a few times and those were some unpredictable adventures. Spidey had really grown to appreciate the guy since meeting him about a year ago. Deadpool seemed to idolize Spiderman, so Peter made sure to live up to that. Deadpool wasn’t an Avenger, but he would lend a hand when it suited him. 

Since May’s death, Peter had been trying his best to excel in life; to make her proud. He threw himself into his superhero work, patrolling every night and sleeping odd hours, and he made tapes of his lectures to listen to while he did. Peter abused his mutations at work to keep trays aloft, catch falling plates, balance an impossible amount of things on a tray, and just generally get the job done. It’s what made him an asset. He was finally feeling confident in his life, both as Spiderman and as a server. He had never dropped a tray. Until one night. 

It was Friday night and Peter rounded the corner coming out of the kitchen when he caught sight of a flash of blood red. He glanced to his left and saw Deadpool, sitting in a booth by himself and unscrewing the lightbulb from the fixture above his head. In full uniform. Peter was so shocked he stopped dead in his tracks just as another server came up behind him, knocking into him and sending both of them crashing to the ground. Thankfully, Peter had only been carrying a couple of salads and the bowls didn’t shatter, but Melony wasn’t so lucky. Peter turned around to see her covered in chorizo and sour cream, glaring at him, madder than he had ever seen another human being. 

“I’m sorry!” He blurted out. 

“Ugh! Who stops in the middle of the damn doorway?” She shot at him. “Look at me! I’m a mess, Peter! Take my tables, I think I have another shirt in the bar.” She got up, signaling for a busboy to clean up Peter’s mess. 

“Your tables?” Peter asked, hopping up and trying to reclaim some dignity while wiping ranch dressing off his face. 

“I just have the one.” She responded, wringing a bit of beer out of her long ponytail. “The freaky guy in the suit. I’m going to get cleaned up. Tell the hostess. Ugh! Peter, I fucking hate you.” She went back through the kitchen toward the bar. Peter turned fearfully to look over at Deadpool who was sitting in his now darkened booth with his mask rolled up, munching on chips. He straightened himself up. He had met Deadpool before, just never in his Peter-Suit, always behind the mask. Their team-ups had been short and sweet, but Peter was always relieved to see Deadpool come barreling into whatever monstrosity was currently tearing up the city. 

Now he was sitting in a tight, two-person booth eating chips and scrolling through… Facebook. Peter approached the table slowly, as if Deadpool would jump up at any moment and recognize him. When he arrived, the merc reached up to replace the bottom half of his mask. His eyes were clearly trained on Peter’s and the boy felt exposed. Like his guilt was written all over his face. He cleared his throat. 

“Where’s Melony?” Deadpool asked. Peter jumped. Until now he had mostly heard Deadpool’s voice as a shout. Now it was low and gravely, like a bass singer who took up smoking. 

“I-I bumped her.” Peter supplied. An awkward pause followed. “Peter! That’s me. I’m Peter, and I knocked Melony down. She needed a new shirt since the sour cream was so… Anyway! I’m Peter, nice to meet you.” Deadpool laughed and Peter’s spine was electrified. Had he been recognized? Was Deadpool laughing at how blatantly obvious is was? 

“I assumed she was just tired of looking at my ugly mug.” Deadpool responded. “Can’t seem to keep a regular waitress.” Peter’s shoulders dropped a bit in shock. 

“Oh, no-“ 

“I’m kidding, kid.” Deadpool smiled. “Calm down. Gimme Combination number four and a guacamole dip. I always get the same thing, just in case we end up seeing each other more often.” He sat back and pulled his mask back up to continue eating chips. Peter stood there for a moment, dumbfounded before he realized that he had the man’s order and he scuttled back into the kitchen. 

He forced himself to take some deep breaths and plugged in the order. He was going to get through the night. He just had to calm down. The dinner rush began, and Peter got more and more tables, but Deadpool stayed the whole time. He didn’t demand much attention, despite what one may think. Each time Peter checked on him, Deadpool rambled for a moment, but in the couple of hours that he sat there, he didn’t wave Peter over once. He ate his meal and drank his beer with his mask pulled up. When he was finished, he rolled it back down and ordered dessert and another beer. When that was gone, he asked for coffee. Peter was nervous every time he spoke to Deadpool, waiting for him to recognize his voice or mannerisms, but Deadpool never did. 

“It’s almost closing time, Mister.” Peter told Wade once the crowd had died down. It nearly midnight. 

“Wade.” Deadpool responded. “I’ll take the check.” Peter nodded and tried to smile at him, but Deadpool—Wade, apparently—was starting to look strange. He had replaced his mask for the last time, his coffee cup empty, and he was looking past Peter. There was a rigidity to his frame, like he was anticipating something. 

“Sure thing.” Peter turned off to get the check but screams from near the lobby stopped him dead in his tracks. Before he could respond, Deadpool was rushing past him. The adrenaline and the familiar combat buddy had Peter running up to the front to see what was going on without considering the need to change into his suit. What good are powers if you can’t use them? 

Peter burst through the doorway and into the front of the building, Wade’s bulky frame and a wall were blocking his line of sight, but he could see the barrel of a gun held up in the air. 

“Get down!” a voice boomed. 

“Boss, we got a problem.” A second voice piped in. “One of them freaky costume people.” Peter came around Deadpool’s elbow to see three men facing the host stand, two of the hostesses standing, shaking and terrified with their hands up. A fourth man stood facing Peter and Wade, a shotgun leveled in front of him. Peter looked at the hostesses, two girls barely out of high school, and his heart beat so loudly, it muffled everything else in the room. 

“Don’t hurt anyone!” Peter blurted out. Deadpool’s head snapped toward him. 

“What the fuck?” He said. “You can barely get a coherent sentence out when you're waiting on me, but now of all times, you find your voice?” He stretched an arm up and over his shoulder to take a katana from its sheath and turn the blade to glint in the light. Peter’s stomach tightened. 

“I mean,” Wade went on, retrieving the twin katana from his back in the same showy way. “I knew when I first saw you that you would be the death of me, but I didn’t mean it like this, Baby Boy.” Peter looked up at Wade in surprise and Wade looked back at him and clicked his tongue, making Peter’s face turn red. The death of him? Wade flirted with Spiderman all the time, but to flirt with Peter No-Powers Parker? He opened his mouth to respond, but Wade beat him to it. 

“Like my associate said, we don’t need to hurt anyone, boys.” Wade stepped forward, purposely getting between Peter and the gun. He moved further from the girls, assuring the barrel was pointed only at him, then he stopped. His stance and voice were both cocky. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.” 

**BANG**

The gun went off, surprising everyone and ripping more screams from terrified patrons that had been made aware of the scene. Wade fell back, his blood spraying all over the lobby. Peter was stunned. He had never seen such a direct hit to the merc. The men with guns all laughed, chatting together before the leader spoke again. 

“Hey! Get it together!” He boomed. Then, quieter, “Would one of you pretty girls go tell your boss we’d like to see him up here with enough cash to make us go away, or we can make our way back there to him and blow some heads off on the way.” Both girls took off running. 

“I said one!” The man shouted, dropping the gun into firing position and aiming after the girls. Peter lunged at him unthinkingly, pushing the barrel up and blowing a chunk out of the ceiling. “What the-” The man tried to wrench it free, but Peter held on with an iron grip. Unfortunately, his spidey-sense warned him seconds too late of another attack and he took the butt of a gun to the forehead. He hit the ground hard, blood dribbling down his face. 

“I said no one had to get hurt.” The man chuckled. There was a moment of silence, followed by a sick popping noise and then-

“Well, that’s just not true anymore, now is it?” Wade had sat up. His collar bone, once blasted into smithereens, had rebuilt for the most part and he climbed to his feet as if the giant gash didn’t remain. The mouth of his mask was bloody from coughing up his own lungs. “Before you were naughty, I would have let you go, but now you have to pay for what you’ve done” Peter blinked, his eyes suddenly heavy. Wade flew into action while Peter fought to remain alert. He knew there was fighting going on, but he couldn’t focus well enough to follow it. He watched their boots dance around almost elegantly before he couldn’t help resting. Then he was asleep. 

When he came to, he was propped up in a booth with a bag of ice on his head. Wade was sitting across from him, eating a soft taco with his mask, now partly ripped, rolled up. It was probably the closest Peter had ever been to Wade with his mask that way. They’d grabbed street food together before, but it was always enjoyed on darkened rooftops in abandoned parts of town. His teeth were remarkably white and straight. 

“Hey, how you feeling?” Wade asked around a mouthful of food. “That was a solid hit back there. You know, you saved that girl. He would have blown her to pieces, just splattered her all over the floor and walls… Anyway, you saved her.” Peter tried to sit up, but his head throbbed. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I left you out when I told the police what happened. Stashed you back here instead. Rita helped. They took the guys with them for booking and-”

“Wait.” Peters eyes sprung open and he sat up. “They're alive? They're going to jail?” Wade paused, a quizzical frown on his face. Peter noticed a particularly deep gash under Wade’s bottom lip. 

“Yes? They're criminals?” 

“You didn’t kill them?” Peter asked. Wade hesitated again before a small smile split his face. 

“Ah. That’s why you were so scared to talk to me before. You know who I am.” Deadpool supplied. 

“No! I mean, well, I’ve heard of you-”

“No worries, kid.” He smiled again, pulling his mask down over his chin and getting up from the booth. “I’m working on cleaning up my act. For instance, I could have gutted those nutless clowns and gone about my merry way. I could have left your dumbass out for the police to find, and they could have taken you to the hospital. I didn’t let them because I wasn’t sure if they would find out you were a mutant while treating you, and I know not everyone likes to register.” He flexed, stretching, and placed his hands on his hips. Peter was silent, he had no idea what to say. 

“Look, I won’t tell anyone, but I saw the way you held onto that gun. There is no way a dude with your body type could have done that, that asshole was huge!” He reached out a hand and Peter hesitantly accepted it, sliding out of the booth and onto his feet. “Vigilantism isn’t for everyone. It would be a lot less dangerous for you to just stick to serving in a restaurant. Plus it doesn’t pay. And there’s so many out there right now, you would never get a good name.” Wade rambled. 

“I’m not a mutant.” Peter said slowly, brain going a thousand miles an hour. Wade knows he has powers but doesn’t know who he is? That’s better than having his cover blown, he guessed. 

“Sure, wink wink. Now, do you want me to walk you home, or are you good?” Wade asked, still steadying him with a hand wrapped around Peter’s wrist. Peter felt so small in comparison. 

“I’m not a mutant!” Peter insisted. 

“Baby Boy… Super Strength aside. You got butted in the side of the head less than an hour ago by a gun being held by a guy who could share my wardrobe.” 

“Yeah? So what?” 

“Where’s the knot?” He asked confidently, ghosting his gloved fingers over the side of Peter’s face and into his hair above the ear. 

“Oh.” Peter deflated. 

“Oh.” Wade repeated, hand still resting gently on Peter’s still-tender scalp. 

“Peter, was it?” Peter gave him a small nod, his cheekbone rubbing against the leather of Deadpool’s palm. Wade dropped his hand. “Well, Peter,” Wade pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his back and Peter’s face got hot again. Wade started moving them to the exit. “I think I found a regular server.”


	2. The Beginning of Something Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter does two favors in one day. Both cost him precious sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.  
I have a much clearer idea of where this is headed now. I'll be updating the tags as things progress and change, so please remember to check them once in a while. Anyway, please enjoy Chapter Two.

It was past midnight, cold for the time of year, and dark aside from the streetlamps. Peter’s head throbbed. He probably could have made it back on his own, but since Wade had offered to walk him, he accepted… He looked up at the starless sky as they walked. Wade’s heavy boots echoed off the storefronts as they passed by. He felt silly in his red t-shirt with a cartoon on the back of a smiling Mexican woman that looked nothing like Rita. His chili pepper shaped nametag had been shoved into his pocket the minute he remembered he had it on.

This wasn’t how he thought he would meet Wade. Not that he ever considered he would meet Wade as a civilian, but certainly not like this. He needed a haircut, his wild brown hair fell into his eyes now when he leaned over his desk, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. At least he could wear jeans to work so he didn’t look like a total loser. Peter realized with a start that he was worried about Deadpool seeing him this way because he felt _unattractive_. Why did he care what the mercenary thought of his looks? He thought back to the restaurant. Wade had called him pet names unprompted, a commonality for Spiderman as well. Peter hadn’t even flinched at hearing them since Wade used them for Spidey so often. He felt a sudden flare of jealousy and chose not to follow the train of thought asking how he was possibly jealous of himself. 

“You okay over there, kid?” Wade asked. “I’m giving you my best jokes over here and you haven’t made a peep.” 

“You’ve been talking?” Peter asked. Wade laughed obnoxiously loud and clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. 

“I’m always talking! Kind of the basis of a lot of my charm.” Wade said, winded. “Did that knock to the head dumb you down or just shake some thoughts loose?” He asked. 

“The latter…” Peter mumbled. 

“Ooh, keep using nerdy words like that.” Wade rumbled. “Turns me on.” Peter’s ears burned. “In all seriousness, though, don’t become a vigilante. It’s too much damn work. I have the advantage of not being able to die, so it’s a sustainable gig for me, but a squishy little mortal like you? The Bads in this city would rip your sweet ass apart.”

“Hey!” Peter argued, prickling at Wade’s choice of words. 

“Sorry, but they would!” Wade trotted a few steps ahead. “So would I. With Consent, of course, and in a different context. But there’s some really tough mofos out here that would crush you. Unless you want me to train you! We could get out those pads and you could punch them while I held them. We could do a whole montage set to music! Ooh, you want to spar, Strong Boy?” 

“Strong Boy?” Peter repeated with disdain. 

“Well, you have super strength, and I already told you that all the good names are taken, so-”

“I don’t have super strength!” Peter shouted. Wade laughed. 

“Okay then. Whatever you say.” 

They came to a stop about a block and a half from Peter’s apartment when Peter’s brain finally cleared a bit and he remembered The Dossier. 

When Spiderman had been officially let into the Avengers, he had been made privy to certain information. Some of which were files on villains. Wade, though attempting to reform, was included in those files. The word that springs to Peter’s mind is “Unhinged.” Most of the file had been redacted, like his given name, but his special skill training and body count were included. When the light changed, Peter turned to Wade before he could move.

“Here is good.” He says. 

“Huh?”

“I’m about a block up.” Peter told him, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. He wasn’t writing Wade off, he just hesitated to get too close. “So, I can take it from here… Thanks! Uh, for everything… I should let you get back to, um, doing your thing.” Wade blinked at him, pulling an iPhone from some pocket on his suit and sending off a quick text.

“You’re really adorable when you're like that, you know?” Wade said, reading an incoming text and putting his phone away. “All flustered and awkward. Go on, don’t show the murderer where you live.”

“It’s not that-” Peter felt a sudden wave of guilt. 

“Nah, it’s cool. Your mommy must have done a good job teaching you about stranger danger.” Wade joked, and Peter’s chest hurt at the mention of his family, however flippant. Wade went on, “It’s all good. I’ve got a car nearby. Maybe I’ll see you around, if I’m lucky. Of course, you would have to be _unlucky_ for that to happen, but either way it would be nice to see you.” 

“Deadpool-” Peter began, but Wade held up a finger. 

“I like it so much better when you say my name, baby boy.” 

“Don’t call me that! Fine. Um… Wade.” Peter said. Wade gave an exaggerated shudder and Peter rolled his eyes. Wade had actually managed to make his own name feel dirty to say. Peter ignored the little thrill up his spine at saying it. “Did you know those guys would be there?” Wade’s posture straightened immediately at the change in topic. 

“Heard some chatter.” He responded after a moment, voice clipped and militaristic. “Some spots in the area had been hit recently and Rita’s has been pulling in big money lately. Good food. Good service.” He winked. “I’ve been there before, don’t know how we missed each other. Rita’s a nice lady. I mean, on the inside I’m sure. Mean as fire on the outside, but what can you do? I like to think she has a soft spot for me. Anyway, I was staking the place out and got lucky on the first night.” His voice dipped back into playful for the last bit, dirty joke and all. 

“Chatter?” Peter asked. 

“I’ve got friends that know things.” Wade said. Peter quirked an eyebrow. “When you hang around the places I do, you hear about things. Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to go.” He took off up the sidewalk in a backwards jog. “Get home safe! Text me when you do!” Peter’s mouth opened, confused. 

“How? I don’t have your number!” He shouted at the retreating figure. Wade turned around and kept jogging. Just then, Peter’s phone buzzed. It was a text from a contact named “Daddy” with a kissy face emoji and a heart. It read ‘Yes u do.’ 

When Peter got home, the first thing he did was rename Deadpool’s contact in his phone. He was surprised at how difficult it was to do. First, he typed in ‘Deadpool,’ then realized that wouldn’t be good for someone to see over his shoulder. Then, he changed it to ‘DP’ but didn’t like giving Wade the chance to make _that_ joke if he ever saw it… ‘Wade,’ he decided. After all, Deadpool had kind of forced them onto a first name basis. He would have to be careful not to use it as Spiderman. 

The light of the phone screen felt way too bright in the darkened apartment, Wade’s last text still on the display. He leaned against the door and typed a quick text back. ‘Home.’ It said. He paused. Too short? Too impersonal? ‘Home safe,’ he considered. It still felt too unfamiliar. Then again, he did just meet the guy a few hours ago (as far as Wade knew). ‘Just got home. Thanks.’ He typed. But that one felt dismissive. Eventually he deleted the text entirely and decided not to say anything at all. 

He half expected a phone call or at least another text, but Wade left him alone. His ears had finally stopped ringing. He locked the door behind him and walked the few feet to the edge of his bed. 

After May died, Peter was responsible for her belongings, so he had refurnished his entire studio with as much of the stuff from her place that he could fit. Her king size mattress and box spring on a plain metal frame (he’d sold her vintage bedroom set for cash), the desk from the study she had turned Peter’s bedroom into, her dining room table and chairs, on and on. It was a joining of her style and his and it served as a daily comfort, like May was still in his life. The rest of her stuff he had sold or donated. 

Rolling across the bed to grab his phone charger, Peter plugged it in and promptly passed out, shoes on. He loved this bed. For one, it was huge, but Aunt May had saved up for years before she replaced her old mattress, so this one was comfortable and good quality. Nothing matched; his sheets were navy blue, his comforter an orange plaid, and his pillowcases ranged from white to brown. Home décor was not his strong suit. Everything he owned was bought from thrift stores, a gift, or Aunt May’s. 

The usual alarms were set on his phone. He was coming off his third double shift this week since he was on break from classes, but he had the next morning off and he intended to sleep until dinner shift. 

Unfortunately for Peter, his neighbor Greta had other plans. 

The initial knock at the door didn’t wake him. Super hearing aside, Peter could sleep through a marching band if his Spidey Sense is dormant. The second knock roused him slightly and he rolled over. When she knocked a third time, Peter sat upright, panicked. He was groggy and disoriented, surprised at the light coming in through the window. How long had he been out? The knocking continued, so Peter had no choice but to go to the door and fling it open. 

“Peter!” Greta said with great relief. She was a graying woman who rented the one-bedroom apartment across the hall from Peter. Part of the reason his studio was rented out for so cheap was the fact that it was added to the building way later and the rest of the apartments had private bedrooms. 

“Yes ma’am?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. She looked flustered, like her blood was pumping. 

“I don’t know what I did, the sink is running over and the handle just won’t turn!” She rambled. “I’m so sorry to bother you, I just remember that time you fixed my deadbolt and I was just wondering, do you know anything about plumbing?” 

“I can probably figure it out.” He responded. His voice sounded like he’d eaten a bowl of sand for breakfast and he realized he was still fully dressed in last night’s sweaty uniform. “Can it wait for me to change?” He asked. Greta pulled on her own fingers. 

“Yes but try not to be long. It hasn’t reached the carpet yet.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

After a quick change of clothes and a mint, Peter went across the hall with some of his tools. He had been in Greta’s apartment a number of times. The first was when her deadbolt had been smashed in by a burglar (who was later helpfully apprehended by a local vigilante), and the rest were the following months. She was a single woman in her fifties and the break-in had scared her. When she asked Peter over for dinner, she said it was to thank him for fixing her door, but Peter came to realize how frightened she was, and he tried to make himself available to her. Plus, he never turns down a free meal and Greta was a fabulous cook. So he let her make her excuses, “I made too much chicken pot pie!” or “This ground beef expires in a few days, so I went ahead and cooked it all,” and in exchange, he hung out with her. 

The sink was a simple job, just an over-tightened nut keeping the valve open, and Peter was able to fix it without drowning himself in the waterfall pouring over the edge of the sink. Greta sat at the table the entire time, holding a mug of tea and asking him random questions about his life. She must get lonely, he thought. She had an enormous aquarium in the corner of her living room with two turtles in it. As far as he knew, the turtles were her only close friends. He never saw her go anywhere or entertain guests. He wasn’t even sure what she did for a living. But she was kind and a good cook, so he withheld his judgement and decided she must prefer it that way. 

When he was done, she thanked him with a giant Tupperware container of brisket and told him to just bring it back when it was gone. He dragged his feet back across the hall and checked his phone. It was six am, plenty of time to go right back to bed before work. He also had a series of text messages from Wade. He rolled his eyes and opened them. 

‘Hope you got home safe. That last block can be the most dangerous.’  
‘Does Rita have a secret menu like Starbucks? Asking for a friend.’  
‘It’s me, I’m the friend.’  
‘Hey, remember that time you grabbed a gun by the barrel like a tiny, psychotic cowboy?’  
‘That was badass.’  
‘Stupid, but badass.’

Rolling his eyes, he typed back ‘yes I remember, it was yesterday.’ He sent it before he could stop himself and started to strip down to his briefs to get back in bed when sparks suddenly began to fly in midair. A deep orange circle cut out of the air, and out stepped Doctor Strange. Peter paused, shirtless, pants around his ankles. 

“Pe-” They both remained frozen for a long moment while Doctor Strange took in the scene he had just come into. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor cleared his throat. 

“Well, this is awkward.” He said unenthusiastically. Peter snatched his jeans back up to cover himself. 

“Privacy!” He shouted, burning red in the face. “If you’re gonna use magic, you need to understand the concept of privacy!” He crossed his arms. “This is why I have a secret identity.”

“It’s really not much of a secret, kid. You take your mask off all the time. And most of the Avengers know your full name.” 

“Hey!” He shot back, sputtering. “It is too a secret! Just… not from everyone, I guess.”

“I don’t have time for this.” Strange responded. He furrowed his brow and extended a hand, and the items cluttering Peter’s floor, the laundry basket full of clothes, the closet with random things shoved into it all sprung to life, opening up and vomiting out their contents to the air. Peter’s Spider suit came from beneath the bed. 

“Ah.” Strange hummed. He waved his hand like he was dusting something from an imaginary surface and the suit responded, spinning around. When Strange turned on Peter, the boy’s eyes grew huge. 

“No no no!” He held up his hands in defense. “No scary magic stuff, just give me a minu-”

“I don’t have a minute.” Was Strange’s only response. With a wave of his hand Peter’s jeans were gone, but before he could act, the Spider suit was flying toward him. He screamed when it tackled him to the floor, grabbing handfuls of fabric and trying to protect himself. It took several seconds for him to realize he was now fully suited up, mask and all, though still lying on the floor like a dried up bug on its back. Strange re-opened his portal. 

“Let’s go.” 

-/-

Peter hated working with Doctor Strange. The man had a tendency to explain things at hyper speed. Even with his intellect, Peter struggled to keep up. As best as he could understand, they were going to somewhere in Arizona to investigate an “atmospheric breech” of some sort. Not a big enough deal to call in the Avengers, but Strange wanted Peter’s scientific input. When they stepped out of the portal, they were on the edge of an old industrial building overlooking a sizable clearing. Above them was the most stunning meteor shower Peter had ever seen. Of course, it was in broad daylight, and the meteors were heading down into the earth, but it was still fascinating to watch. 

“What the hell are those?!” Peter asked. Doctor Strange didn’t respond. He just watched for a moment, his mouth a grim line. They must be the atmospheric disturbance Strange mentioned. If Spiderman were on this alone, he would evacuate the area and try to maintain the damage. But he knew the doctor would have other plans. 

“I needed another scientific mind, I suppose.” Strange said. “From time to time, the earth is bound to come into contact with things that are from other parts of the galaxy. We know that everything out there is drifting glacially through space, but no one sees the big picture.”

“What’s the big picture?” 

“Eventually, it all collides.” He said monotonously and with his eyes fixed to the space rocks. 

Together, they stepped through another portal and made it to the ground underneath the incoming rocks. 

“I’m going to open a gate large enough to let them pass through and into another realm.” Strange told him. “But I want a sample of one. I can’t risk them hitting the earth, so I’m going to send you up to the largest one. If I drop you onto it, can you collect a sample and get back down here before you go through the gate? If you don’t, you’ll be thrown into the vacuum of space.”

“And if I do?” Peter asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“We’ll know what these are, where they're from, and how to protect ourselves from more.” He opened the second portal, sparks flying dangerously from his fingertips. From here, looking up, the meteors looked slow traveling. He knew once he got up there, it would be a different story. Strange handed him a small claw hammer and a plastic jar. 

“Couldn’t you just stop time and get it yourself?” Peter asked. Doctor Strange looked at him soberly, his face suddenly looked tired. 

“Haven’t you had enough of the Infinity Gems, kid?” He responded. Peter fell silent. Every time he remembered that day he could feel it all over again. Like his body had memorized the anguish he felt losing his friends like that and played it on repeat. 

“I guess so.” Strange cleared his throat. “Are you ready?” He asked. 

“Yes.” Peter said with confidence, though he felt nothing of the sort. With false bravado and a deep breath, he jumped through the portal, not bothering to look and see what was on the other side. And he was glad he didn’t, because if he had seen the white and lavender marbled surface of the rock, he may have been too distracted. 

It was beautiful. Like the inside of a geode. It sparkled and shined in the sunlight with flecks of blue and green like an opal. Peter found himself staring, mesmerized. It wasn’t until he realized he hadn’t taken a breath yet that the spell was broken. The high altitude was killing his ears, and the sound of the air rushing past was deafening. He was spread out in his usual Spidey fashion, and he crawled over the surface carefully. The pull of the stone was strong, but he recognized it early and was doing his best to fight it. 

The speed at which they were hurtling toward the earth was more than break-neck. Peter struggled to hold on, one of his hands occupied by his sample retrieving kit. Once he found a good place to perch, he used the chisel to remove two golf ball sized chunks of the rock and force them into the jar. He put the jar and hammer away and began to signal to Strange. For a terrifying second, Peter didn’t see him, but then he was able to look past the meteors below him and find Strange standing on the edge of an enormous orange portal. The first rock passed through it and Peter waved to the doctor who very quickly got him back on the ground. 

Peter doubled over, the pressure in his ears having been relieved, and took a moment to breathe. From where he stood, he could see the rocks passing through. The sound was deafening, even on the ground, but as each one passed the ring into space it eased off a little bit more. Doctor Strange stood a few feet from the edge, arms extended in whatever spell he used to balance the whole thing. Peter could help but get a little closer. With Strange occupied, it didn’t even occur to him how close was too close.  
As the last meteor passed through the portal, it clipped the very edge where the magic door was ringed in earth. It sounded like an explosion as the rock was forced to pieces. Peter jumped back, but he was too late. The sparkling white rock launched at him as he jumped back from the edge and he grunted on impact, hitting the ground and hearing the rock do the same. 

“Peter!” Doctor Strange shouted, closing up the portal and rushing to his side. “Are you alright? Let me see.” Peter sat up awkwardly, reaching behind himself to unfasten his suit and let the doctor pull it down over his chest and off his arms. Just to the left of his bellybutton was a dark, black bruise about the size of a pear. Peter touched it gingerly with his fingertip and winced. 

“I’ve had worse.” He said truthfully. Stephen laughed and Peter pulled his suit back up as best he could without hurting himself anymore. “Before I forget…” he handed over the samples and Stephen thanked him. 

“Where’s the piece that hit you?” Stephen asked. Peter turned in a quick circle, checking the immediate area. 

“I don’t know. None of these look like those did.” There were a few that were the right size, but none the right color. 

“Impact could have sent it back toward the portal.” Strange suggested. Peter nodded, too tired and sore to care. 

“Thank you for your help. I can open a door and send you home.” 

“That would be nice, thanks.” Peter said, smiling tiredly. 

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” The doctor told him. 

“Yeah, actually, you could call, text, or knock on my door next time instead of appearing in my room and dressing me like I’m a baby.” 

“I will… Work on that.” Strange told him with a small smile. Peter rolled his eyes and hopped through the portal into his room. The door closed immediately behind him, so there was no prolonged goodbye. 

Shrugging out of the suit, Peter went into his bathroom and looked at the enormous bruise on his stomach. His healing factor would have it taken care of in a couple of days. Still, it was bad. 

“That’s attractive.” He said out loud. Not that it mattered, he thought. No one saw him shirtless these days but Banner for his physical checkups. Having a significant other is hard when you're a vigilante, not to mention when you're also traumatized beyond your years. Peter wasn’t like the typical college student. He had seen too much. 

He turned to lay down for a bit when something on his back caught his eyes. He turned back around to the mirror, craning over his shoulder to see. On his lower back, off to the right side, was a pear-sized bruise the same shape as the one on his stomach. He turned back and forth to confirm, but even when he was sure they were identical, he still didn’t know what to do with the information. He took a picture of both with his selfie timer and texted them to Banner along with ‘Got any time for a visit?’, then he went over to his bed and flopped down onto it in nothing but his boxer briefs. 

Maybe he was napping too much lately, but he had the morning off, damnit, and he was going to make the most of it. With that in mind, he drifted off to sleep…

_ He was sitting at Greta’s kitchen table. Across from him was Greta herself. She was visibly younger, her hair and skin brighter. _  
_“I wish I’d had children.” She said suddenly._  
_“Why didn’t you?” Peter asked. The scene felt serene, like he was moving and talking under water._  
_“My husband died young.”_  
_“Oh.”_  
_“Now, I have no one to take care of except Zipper and Harold.” She said sadly. Peter knew without asking that those were her turtles._  
_“But you take care of me.” Peter argued. That seemed to break her sad spell and the room was less pressurized when she glanced up at him in surprise._  
_“I do?”_  
_“Yeah. Because of you, tonight I’m eating brisket tonight instead of canned spinach.” He told her. She wrinkled her nose. “What? It was on sale!” He defended himself. He woke up to the faint memory of Greta laughing. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments give me inspiration.


	3. A Late Night Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes back to work after what happened the previous day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXPLICIT CONTENT BEYOND THIS POINT. If you are under 18, please leave immediately.  
Also, blood mention, violent threats, creative insults, and stuff like that.
> 
> Please understand that I am a long-time X-Men/Spiderman/Deadpool fan. I know that all together, some of the references to canon are not in the same universe as everything else. This is a mixture of my knowledge, not any specific iterations of the comics or films.

Dinner shift was brutal. Saturdays always were. Rita always stayed open until the last of the customers leave instead of having a set closing time, so Peter was often stuck there well past midnight on the weekends. It wasn’t close enough to the tourist parts of the city for the place to be packed every day, but it saw a fair amount of foot traffic. Despite being a hole-in-the-wall, Rita’s was about the nicest restaurant in that area. A lot of people came on dates, but there were also larger parties and the occasional single person. Peter was used to being run around the restaurant by demanding patrons. He was subjected to it every weekend and holiday. Thankfully his stamina was impressive thanks to his _ other _ job. 

He half expected to see Deadpool there. When he had finally gotten back from his bizarre quest with Doctor Strange, he had checked for text messages from the mercenary, but there were none from Wade. Just one from Banner asking for more details and telling Peter to come in whenever he could for a checkup. On the one hand Peter couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Wade had always flirted with Spiderman, even when the young hero had tried to shut him up. It was kind of a routine now. He had expected the same thing as Peter. But on the other hand, he no longer felt that strange jealousy he had experienced when he thought about how Wade treated Peter. The whole thing was already too complicated. 

The response at work to his return after the shooting was lackluster. There was still a giant chunk missing from the ceiling in the lobby, but the patrons didn’t seem to be afraid. It was already busy when Peter walked in. Rita pulled him into her office the first chance she got and asked him if he wanted some time off. He told her no, his usual schedule was fine. She thanked him for protecting the hostesses (one of which had accepted her offer for time off, and the other had quit) and told him in the future to just hand over the money. 

“That is what insurance is for.” She told him in her thick accent. “That is why we have it.” And off to work he went. His coworkers treated him like a ticking time bomb. Like what happened somehow made Peter a danger to them. Little did they know, all that kept him from becoming dangerous to them for real was his secret identity. He had seen firsthand what a villain will do if they find the people in your life. 

Overall, it wasn’t a bad shift. Maybe the shooting that occurred less than twenty-four hours ago had discouraged some patrons after all. Peter was cut around ten thirty since he opened the dinner shift and he was standing in the storage room inventorying the condiments when another coworker snuck up behind him. 

“Pete!” Max said, barely two feet away from Peter’s back. Peter jumped despite himself, cursing his spidey senses for now warning him. 

“Hey, Max…” He responded, trying not to turn out too much and get roped into a full-scale conversation. He caught a glimpse of Max’s smile and tried to hide his shudder.  
Max creeped him out, to say the least. He’d been working here way longer than Peter even though he was only in his twenties. He was a bus boy, but a lot of the time the servers ended up cleaning their own tables since Max was always smoking weed in the walk-in freezer outside. He drifted around the restaurant and made the female and male servers alike extremely uncomfortable with his unsolicited backrubs and suggestive conversation. 

“How was your shift?” Max asked. Peter kept his back to the man, not wanted to encourage him. 

“Not bad…” He said noncommittally. Max waited. Peter grew frustrated in the uncomfortable silence. Finally, politeness got the best of him. “How was yours?” 

“Still going.” Max laughed. Peter wanted to ask him why he was wandering around in the stock room if he was still on the clock, but he knew the answer. 

Max was a proud, bisexual man. Peter respected that about him when he first met him. Peter himself had only ever been with women, but he knew that some of his ‘platonic’ male relationships were actually unrequited crushes one way or another (looking at you, Flash). The issue with Max was that he used his sexuality as an open door to say whatever he wanted about customers and coworkers alike. He treated it like a free pass. When Peter had first started working there, Max had asked him out. But the intense energy the guy gave off made Peter say no. Max was persistent, asking every night what Peter’s plans were and if he wanted to get a drink/smoke a bowl/see a movie. Peter maintained a politely negative stance, but Max never quite gave up; he left him notes, little gifts, compliments, anything he thought would impress Peter. 

“What are your plans tonight?” He asked right on cue. Peter held back a sigh. He continued marrying the ketchup bottles and tossing the empties. 

“Just headed home. Catching up on my homework before I come in tomorrow.” Max didn’t work Sundays, a blessing to everyone. Max nodded and Peter ran out of ketchup bottles. He was forced to turn and start on the salt and pepper shakers, and from that position he could see Max more clearly. He was tall and skinny, surprising based on how much weed he smoked. He was white with sandy blond hair and light brown eyes. He wasn’t unattractive to look at, there was just something about him that put Peter on edge. Others had made similar comments. 

“Need me to walk you?” Max asked, moving in on Peter’s personal space. Peter panicked.

“No, I-”

“Peter? Are you still here? Go home, _ querido _.” He turned to see Rita glaring at him. “Go! Shoo!” 

“Yes, Ma’am!” He slipped around Max without a work and booked it to the breakroom to get his things. 

It took him a while to get out of the building since it was impossible to walk through the kitchen and not be asked for help. Still, he managed to clock out and get to Rita’s office for his check out within about twenty minutes. He sat down heavily in the chair, ribs and back aching from the Mystery Bruises and handed Rita his receipts for the day. 

“Alright.” Rita said, sorting through it all. “Not bad, considering.”

“Yeah, Saturdays are good for my wallet.” Peter joked awkwardly. Rita smiled at him warmly while typing his numbers into her calculator. She wasn’t maternal one hundred percent of the time—Wade had even pointed out that she comes across as intense or even mean, but every so often she would give you a look that said she saw through everything. Peter had been on the receiving end of a few of those looks, and when she glanced up from her calculator, he was already expecting it. Her dark skin and deep brown eyes were beautiful despite her age. She wore her long, black hair up in a messy bun most days and Peter had never seen her with makeup on, but she was very pretty. Her crow’s feet around the eyes gave her an approachable and kind vibe. Short and heavy, she wore t-shirts every day advertising for her restaurant. 

“How are you, Peter?” She asked. Peter loved the way she pronounced the final R in his name. 

“I already told you this morning, I’m o-”

“No, no, no.” She said. “I do not mean only yesterday. I mean, how are you most of the time, Peter?” Peter squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“I’m fine.” He lied. But he couldn’t make himself tell her how lonely and stressed he was. She handed him back his tips and he counted through it just to occupy himself. 

“You are lucky your friend was here.” She said. “I have seen him before, but I never realized… well, what he could do.” 

“You mean getting back up after a shotgun blow to the chest, collar, and throat? Yeah, me neither.” Before Rita could reply another server poked her head through the doorway, ready to check out. Peter said a hasty goodbye and jumped up and out of the office with a bit too much gusto. Rita’s scrutinizing eyes tracked him all the way out of the building to remind him that this conversation wasn’t over. 

Once he was outside, he leaned heavily against the wall. He had taken the back exit even though it meant a further walk home, but it was closer to Rita’s office and he needed to get out of there ASAP. He closed his eyes and tried to take some calming breaths. Anxiety was a bitch, especially when your metabolism prevented you from being able to take medication, and this wasn’t his first episode. 

“Deep breath, Parker.” He told himself quietly, holding onto his knees and bending over. “Just breathe through it.” 

“Pete!” a voice cut through the ringing in his ears. Dread filled him. He straightened up and saw Max jogging down the alley toward him. 

“Fuck.” He muttered. 

“P-Man, hey!” Max laughed, out of breath. “I went out the front looking for you. Guess I should have known you’d be hiding out here by the dumpsters.” Peter looked around. The back exit had an enormous dumpster by the back wall. It was also where they received deliveries. Not a lot of foot traffic since it was just a small alleyway Rita shared with some little boutique. If Max had gone out the front, that meant he had to run all the way around the block to come upon Peter the way he had. 

“Hey, Max.” Peter responded with zero enthusiasm. “See you tomorrow.” He began walking up the alleyway, trying to get away with as little chit chat as possible. It creeped him out to consider all the trouble Max had gone to in order to catch up to him. 

“Wait!” Max jogged after him, still out of breath. “I’ll walk you.” Peter stopped. He didn’t want Max to know where he lived. This was a year long battle to shake him and Peter couldn’t deal with it if it extended to his apartment. All the little gifts Max used to bring him, the notes left in his jacket pockets in the winter, he couldn’t even imagine what Max would do if he knew where to mail things. 

“I thought you were still on the clock?” He asked hesitantly. Max smirked. 

“I told Rita she should let me walk you home. After what happened yesterday…” He bumped Peter’s shoulder with his own. “Sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, but I had the day off. It was lucky for those bastards though. They got to leave in cuffs instead of on a stretcher.” Peter laughed out loud, though not at Max. It was true, those men _were_ lucky, but not because Max had the day off. They were lucky that Deadpool had chosen not to put them in the ground. 

“Yeah, I’m actually okay, though.” Peter said awkwardly. “I don’t really need an escort.” He started shuffling up the alley and away from Max, but the bus boy wasn’t having it. He reached out faster than Peter could anticipate and latched onto Peter’s elbow. 

“No way.” He said, curling his fingers around Peter’s bare arm. His eyes were red and narrow, he was flying. Rita had probably let him leave because he was clearly too high to do his job. Max sighed dramatically.

“Peter, why are you fighting this?” He asked. His voice was suddenly very different. He was calm and the pitch lowered. It was unsettling. Peter’s spidey sense was going off (much too late, he might add) and it took everything in him not to wrench his arm away with all his strength. 

“Ever since I met you, I’ve been chasing you. I’m attracted to you, you’re attracted to me, let’s just go to your place and see what happens?” Max pulled him even closer. Peter struggled to free his arm without letting on that he had super strength, but Max’s grip was too tight. 

“Max, I’m sorry, man, I’m not interested.” Peter said with some desperation. Max didn’t even flinch. Peter had heard coworkers turn him down before, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. 

“That’s because you refuse to get to know me.” His voice was harsher now, less jovial, almost angry. He moved in closer, pulling Peter flush against his body.  
Suddenly, before Peter could decide what to do, there was a crash from over by the dumpster. Peter and Max both turned at the deafening sound to find Deadpool standing, hands on his hips, on top of the now-concave lid. 

“You really need to learn the meaning of ‘no,’ asshole.” Wade said. His voice was back to how Peter recognized it, strong and loud and confident. Deadpool almost always sounded like he was making a joke, even when he was being intimidating there was an underlying laugh to his voice. None of the easy-going mildness from when Peter had waited on him the previous day. He hopped down off the dumpster, taking the full force of the drop solidly in both legs. “I’ve skewered other little shrimp-dicks for much less. Now let go of the waiter and go fuck yourself, or Bea, Arthur, and I will make sure you never fuck anyone or anything ever again. You would go from shrimp-dick to n-dick! Is that what you want?” Deadpool reached back for his swords, showing the sheer power of his torso in the stretch. Peter couldn’t help but watch the roll of his abs, lats, and pecs. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Max defended, though he dropped Peter’s elbow instantly. Wade paused with his hands on the hilts, swords still sheathed. He gave a single huff of a laugh. 

“Wow… I actually thought all I would have to do is scare you, but clearly you’re a more advanced Fuckboy than usual.” Wade said. His voice had humor in it despite the tense situation. “Most of the little creeps I deal with in my line of work get the message early on. Maybe run away with their tail between their legs. But you… you don’t seem to get it at all. But don’t worry, Daddypool will explain.” He cleared his throat and took a step toward Max. Try as he might not to give ground, Max took a step back. 

“I know you want to fuck my friend here, pal, but he clearly doesn’t want to fuck you.” Deadpool told him in a slow and purposeful voice. The way you would explain a difficult concept to a toddler. “Anything but giving up at this point is a crime. A crime punishable by evisceration in this case. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this—though if I'm being honest, yes I did—but if you insist…” He unsheathed just one katana, extending it to its full length so quickly that all that was visible was the flash of metal. Then the end of that sword was pressed against Max’s throat, hard enough to draw a small trickle of blood but not enough to do any real damage. 

Max’s eyes went wide. Wade held him there, body posed like some gladiator in battle, with his feet apart and his shoulders squared. Peter had seen him in way more action than this, but he had always been engaged with something himself. He had never just watched the pure power of Wade’s massive body put on display like that. It was enough to quicken his breath. It was also enough to make Max quiver. 

“Okay!” He choked out, trying not to move. He lifted his hands up by his head. “Look, I let go! I’m not touching him, man. Okay?” 

A beat went by before Wade spoke, his voice low and predatory, “Why are you still here, asshole?” 

Max didn’t need to be told twice. He backed off the sword and looped around Peter, sprinting off the way he had come, but taking the furthest path around Wade. Peter watched him go in astonishment. 

“Holy shit…” Peter was slack jawed. He turned to Wade. “A year, I have been dealing with that. A whole year! And you scare him of in three point two seconds? Unfair.” Wade guffawed. 

“Unfair?” He said. “What does that even mean? No offence, but there’s a reason you’re Strong _Boy_ and not Strong _Man_.” 

“I am not called Strong Boy!” Peter argued. “What are you doing here, Wade?” Deadpool sheathed his sword and scratched the back of his head. Peter’s eyes were again drawn to his abdomen to watch the stretch of muscle before he regained himself and looked back to the mask. 

“Believe it or not, I was in the area looking for someone.” He scanned above Peter’s head as if to demonstrate. “But I had no such luck. I was using rooftops to scan the alleyways since that’s easier than running around all night. After a while it starts to look like those mazes they used to have in coloring books? Anyway, guy hasn’t shown up and it’s been hours, so I was heading home when I saw Cosby McWeinstein down here trying to earn his admission to Hell.” Wade leaned against the building, crossing one leg idly over the others. “So, I thought I would drop in and say hello.” Peter stared at him, unable to find the right words. 

“Well, thank you.” He said finally. Wade chuckled. “I didn’t know what to do, he’s never been that forward before.”

“No problem.” Wade said, hopping away from the wall and circling Peter. “I was just glad to see I made it further than him.”

“Huh?” Peter asked, turning to keep Wade in his sights. 

“You let me walk you most of the way before you decided you didn’t want me to know where you lived. He didn’t get two feet!” He burst out laughing and wiped an imaginary tear from his mask. Peter shifted awkwardly. Wade was hurt. He may be laughing and joking around, but Peter could tell. 

He remembered the dossier, but… Wade didn’t seem anything like the dossier said. It called him merciless and violent. It said that he was insane, unhinged, and dangerous. On the copy Peter had received, Tony had hand-written, “Avoid at all costs!!!” and underlined it more than once. The first time they met, Peter had tried to run. He tried to do what Mr. Stark wanted, but he got roped into a team-up. Every time after that it seemed fate had thrown them together. Finally, one day, after ridding the streets of a fresh wave of Doombots, Deadpool had dragged Peter to a hot dog cart and bought them both one. They walked the empty, demolished streets and ate until they came across the SHIELD clean up crew, then went their separate ways. Wade had never done anything to Peter to make him afraid. In fact, he had saved his life twice in the past two days. Peter felt guilty.  
“Actually,” He began, looking up at Wade but unable to meet his eye. “I’m kind of afraid Max will circle around and follow me anyway… Would you walk me?” He asked. Wade slapped his hands onto his cheeks. 

“Why, of course, baby boy!” Wade straightened up and offered Peter his elbow, which Peter glared at and refused to take. It was clear from yesterday’s events that Peter didn’t need an escort home, so Wade must recognize the apology in his offer. 

They started walking up and out of the alley, opposite from where Max left. Peter couldn’t help but steal a couple of glances at Wade. It was as if nothing had happened. Wade was walking animatedly, like a cartoon character, his boots thumping the sidewalk as they turned out onto the main road. 

“So, you’re not a Reg. Mute then?” Wade asked him. He was referring to a government law that says all mutated people must register as soon as their abilities manifest. They claim that it was in order to keep things like the Firefist situation from happening again, but most mutants refused. Doctors and new parents are also required to report signs in children. It was fought when it was passed and even when it went into law, it was the most regulated system. But Peter had seen the collars, the ones they used to strip mutants of their powers. His secret identity was important to him for these reasons. 

“I’m not a mutant.” Peter responded quietly. The entire topic of registering his powers stressed him out. 

“Yeah, I’m not registered either, technically.” He said. “I think I’m probably legally dead by now. I mean, I’ve died before, like hundreds of times, but I’ve never stayed that way too long. Plus, there’s no one to report me missing besides Weasel, so…”

“Huh?” 

“I wouldn’t register because this isn’t Nazi-Fucking-Germany, but that’s just me.” Wade went on. 

He talked the entire way to Peter’s apartment, not just about his suspicions about Peter’s strength, but other stuff. Peter was used to his babbling. He responded here and there, but mainly let Wade talk. He managed to talk the whole time without divulging too much about himself or his past, Peter noticed. When they reached the crossing that Peter had abandoned him at last time, Wade has stopped him. 

“Last chance!” Wade offered. “This is the point of no return!” He raised an eyebrow high enough for it to be seen through his mask. Peter chuckled. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” He said. Wade actually paused at that. 

“I’ve heard that before, but I think this is the first time it’s been true.” He joked. Peter smiled at him and kept going. He could see the stoop of his building, a simple brick structure with thirteen floors and an elevator. As they got closer, he looked up at his window, just barely visible over the top of the adjacent building. He could see his blue curtains covering the window that overlooked the fire escape where he came and went as Spiderman. 

“This is me.” Peter said. Wade stopped and looked up at the building. 

“Not bad.” He remarked. 

For a brief moment Peter considered how the night could end. His face burned scarlet at the thought, and he looked to Wade. Asking Wade to walk him home was an apology for the previous day, but Peter couldn’t deny that the man makes him happy. Wade could always make him laugh, even after having his lights knocked out by some bad guy. He considered a day better after having seen Wade. Maybe he hadn’t just been concerned with Wade’s feelings when he asked him to walk him home. Maybe he had been acting on his own feelings. There was no way that his thought process wasn’t written all over his face. 

“Wade-” he began. 

“It’s late!” Wade blurted out. He floundered for a moment before he laughed and started backing down the sidewalk, looking like a crazy person. “You should get some beauty sleep, Petey. Become even more irresistible. Um, thanks for the walk! Goodnight.” And then he was gone, a blur of red and black sprinting around the corner. Peter was dumbfounded. He stood on his stoop for a moment at a total loss before shaking his head and going inside. He went up to his apartment on the tenth floor and flopped down on the bed. 

‘Thanks for walking me home.’ Peter texted, sending it to Wade before he could stop himself. He laid on his bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. He kicked off his shoes and closed his eyes before he got a response. 

‘No prob, babe. Sorry I had to split.’

“Yeah, why was that?” Peter asked out loud. 

‘Yeah. Next time, you should hang out.’ Peter sent. The reply came after almost twenty minutes. 

‘Not a good idea, kid.’ 

‘Why is that?’

‘I’m bad news.’

Peter stared at the screen. Duh, he was bad news. Up until now he had been flaunting it like a medal of honor. Deadpool was dangerous and loud and inappropriate. That’s who he was. Why was he suddenly clamming up about it? Peter didn’t want to argue. 

‘Well, then maybe I’ll see you at Rita’s? I’m your regular server now, after all.’ He sent. Wade’s response took so long to come in, Peter had time to shower and get dressed for bed and work on his thesis a bit. He wanted a head start since it was such a large task. When his phone went off, he didn’t hear it. He didn’t see the text until he climbed into bed and checked his phone. 

‘Sure thing, baby boy. Sweet dreams.’ It read. 

Peter closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep...

_He was in a room he didn’t recognize. A living room with a brown leather sofa, cluttered with things. The studio was around the same size as his, just a bed and a dresser, couch and entertainment center, and a kitchenette with a counter and barstools. Scenery, however, did not feel important. He felt like he was here for a reason._

_There was a man sitting on the couch with a videogame controller in his hands, playing on a big tv. His whole body was into the motion. Peter walked around the edge of the couch in a daze. He didn’t recognize the man. He was tall and muscular with brown hair trimmed into a tight military cut. He wore plain jeans and a t-shirt with the logo of some beer company on it. His eyes were a deep shade of brown and his features strong. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but it was faint, and Peter couldn’t focus. The man looked up and saw him and smiled. _

_“Hey, babe.” He said. Peter was confused, but just responded, “Hey,” and didn’t ask any questions. He felt like he should know what was going on and asking would break the spell they were under. _

_“Come sit.” The man responded. Peter hesitated for a brief second. Should he be afraid? He considered it before landing on no. The couch squeaked under his weight and he sat close to the man who looped his arm around his shoulder easily. Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that he was here for a reason. _

_“I'm going to assume,” The man began. “Since I am not on a beach with She-Hulk or Captain Marvel, that tonight’s sinful dream is supposed to be about you?” He looked at Peter out of the corner of his eye as if waiting for an answer. There was none. _

_“Nice to break up the monotony, I suppose.” He went on. “But you don’t seem too into it, so I’m just going to keep playing then.” The game unpaused and he went back to playing, removing his arm from around Peter to do so. As if in a fog, Peter’s brain was working way slower than usual. The thought that he was here for something specific wouldn’t let him be. _

_“Sinful dreams?” Peter said out loud. The man laughed. _

_“Come on, Dream Brain, he’s not_ that _ naïve.” He said, chuckling. _

_“Naïve?” Peter repeated. Then it all clicked. “Oh! Sinful dreams, this is a sex dream!” At that, the man laughed even harder. _

_“Right now, it’s lightyears away from that, with you sitting there all cherubic and virginal.” He smiled and Peter was staring at his straight, white teeth. His laugh was so familiar, though the wrong pitch. Peter could feel the expansion and release of his lungs, he was sitting so close. “You’re too adorable for me to sully with my dirty mind.” _

_“I’m not a virgin.” Peter answered, as if that were a point of pride. The man blinked at that. _

_“This is just so much weirder than usual.” He shook his head, eyes on the screen. _

_“Usual?” Peter asked. _

_“Yeah, my sex dreams are usually pretty straight-forward.” He told Peter, pausing the game and turning to look at him. “I’m hot, they’re hot, we’re both overcome by lust or sex pollen or whatever trope is stuck in my brain that day. We fuck nice and dirty and then I wake up wearing soaking wet panties.” He smirked as Peter turned bright red. _

_“Oh.” Was all Peter could manage to say. He wanted to ask why the man his dream conjured up believed that he was the one dreaming when it was clearly Peter. The man stretched out on the couch, his shirt riding up to show his impressive physique. It began to make sense as soon as the man said it. That’s what Peter was here for. _

_He’d had sex dreams before, but they had always been about people he knew or celebrities. Never some random creation of his subconscious. Despite having some familiar qualities, Peter didn’t know this man. Then again, looking at the guy, was Peter really about to turn this down? He considered it. His only gay experience so far in life was that time Ned had slept over and they’d woken up spooning. But he also couldn’t deny that he found men attractive. How many times had Captain America’s ass called out to him in battle before his disappearance? Denying his sexuality was never the goal but acting on it had not been a desirable option before. Now it was, and Peter didn’t know what to do. He could have a nice, albeit strange, dream fuck, or he could focus on waking up and ignore all of this._

_One glance back at the mountain of a man and Peter made up his mind. _

_“Do you want to?” Peter asked, leaning more into the man. _

_“Fuck yeah, if you do.” The man replied with excitement. Peter smiled shyly. _

_“What do I call you?” He asked. _

_“Uh… Jack. Jack will do.” _

_“Alright Jack.” Peter threw his leg over the man’s lap and straddled him so that they were face to face. “Do your worst.” _

_The man, Jack, didn’t need to hear it again. He gripped Peter’s hips suddenly, grinding him down and onto his lap. Peter gave a small breathy response and Jack shuddered at it. He was flipped suddenly and placed onto the couch on his back, Jack over top of him. They kissed for the first time in this position and Peter couldn’t get enough. This was it. This was what he was craving. The slide of their lips was soft and wet, Peter tipping his head back to really give Jack all the power. Jack lifted his shirt up and Peter struggled to sit up and help him remove it. Some part of him registered that the bruise on his stomach was gone in the dream-world. _

_Peter groaned as Jack kissed him, carding his fingers through the man’s short, brown hair. He was so big, Peter felt dwarfed in his company. That large, expansive chest loomed over him and Peter arched his back to press his sensitive nipples to it. Jack smirked into the kiss and wrapped his wide bicep under Peter’s back to support him. _

_“Sorry, been a while.” He says, breaking the kiss just enough to catch his breath. Peter laughs it off, but he can’t help but do the mental math. He hadn’t gotten laid since the week after May died. _

_He’d gone to a bar, finished with the funeral and the arrangements for the house, he felt empty. Like he had nothing left to do. Drinking wasn’t what he set out to do, but some things can only be fixed by the bottom of a bottle. His enhanced metabolism was strong, but his will to get drunk was stronger. He handed the bar tender a wad of cash, more than he would have spent on anything if he had been in his right mind, and told her to keep the drinks coming until he was on the floor. Next thing he knew, they were both on the floor in the men’s room and Peter never returned to that bar. So, his most recent sexual encounter was dirty, bathroom-floor bar sex that he barely remembered. _

_“Same.” He admitted. Jack chuckled, sitting up to take off his own shirt. _

_“I find that hard to believe.” He said. Peter shrugged. There was a maple leaf tattooed on Jack’s left pectoral, over his heart. Jack went back to kissing him, deepening it and adding tongue, until Peter was pliant and needy, pushing his half-hard dick into Jack’s stomach. Jack stood up off the couch and shed his pants and boxers in one go, freeing himself to Peter’s gaze. Peter was shocked and intimidated by his size. Would dream sex hurt? After all, he had never been with a man before, and wasn’t it supposed to hurt the first time? _

_Getting up and steeling himself, Peter crossed the small studio to the foot of the bed over by Jack. He took a gulp of air and dropped his pants as well. He had no reason to be shy when size was in question, even if he wasn’t on Jack’s level. Jack made no attempt to hide his appreciation. Instead he circled Peter like a hungry shark. _

_Jack stepped closer to him, placing his big hands on Peter’s shoulders, and pushed him back onto the bed. Peter gasped as he went down but before he could gather himself, Jack’s mouth was wrapped around his forming erection. He squealed, rolling his hips shamelessly and Jack reached up to pin them under each hand. With his feet on the floor and his back on the mattress, Peter had no choice but to watch Jack take his full length down his throat like it was nothing. The feeling was indescribable. Dream sex had never felt like this before. _

_Before the bartender had been his first college girlfriend, before her was Gwen, and before Gwen was no one. Peter sexual experiences were limited to the women he dated and internet porn, and neither deviated from the norm. Sex had always been fun, but this was something else. For the first time, Peter felt like letting go and just doing what he wanted to do. He was always too nervous and conservative with his past partners. Gwen had called it the best “vanilla sex” of her life, but this did not feel vanilla. This felt primal._

_He arched his back, hips still restrained and pinned. Jack ran his tongue along the underside of Peter’s cock and he found that he was fully hard and weeping pre-cum now. If Peter was a novice, Jack was an expert. He sucked dick like he had no need for air or common decency. The sound alone could make a stripper blush. Peter moaned without hesitation and Jack loved it. He gave little encouragements here and there when his mouth wasn’t occupied._

_“Let me hear you.” He had demanded when Peter tried to cover his mouth. Then Jack went right back to licking and sucking him like his life depended on it.  
The haze of the dream was growing thicker, pleasure was all Peter could be aware of. The room wasn’t there anymore, though the surface of the bed beneath his back was. It was just him and Jack in the world. He gripped at the sheets, huffing and panting for more, more, more, and then he had reached the point of no return. Peter sat up abruptly, placing his hand on the back of Jack’s head and using what little purchase he could find with his toes to fuck down his throat with abandon. _

_When he came, he saw stars. Jack’s head continued bobbing, even when cum dribbled from the corner of his mouth. It was filthy and depraved and exactly what Peter needed. He moaned through his orgasm and the aftershocks until the feeling of Jack’s tongue was overstimulating on his skin. Jack finally pulled off and swallowed his mouthful. _

_Peter opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted as the sound of his alarm clock cut through the vision of his dream and he was jerked awake to face the day and deal with his sticky, wet briefs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Rita's is based on my current place of work, and Max is based on my creepy coworker who wont stop asking me out even thought I am a lesbian.  
Okay, maybe not so fun.  
I was always really stricken by the treatment of mutants in the early X-Men films and then Deadpool 2 brought it back so I decided to add a bit of a mutant-phobic government and Wade's opinions on such.   
Anyway, this is the next installment, I hope you like it.


	4. Have A Day Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets an unexpected day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dedicating this chapter to ZeZone. I have not abandoned you.

When he awoke the next morning, the first thing Peter did was throw his briefs into the laundry and hop in the shower. He felt embarrassed, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it had been a while since he’d even thought about sex. There was always so much to do with school and his job and his vigilantism. He checked the mirror when he got out, but the bruise was still just as dark as the day before. 

“What the hell?” he muttered to himself, gingerly touching the dark spots. Normally his healing factor would have taken care of something like that in a matter of hours. But it had been almost three days and it was still dark purple. He really needed to see Banner though the idea of a medical exam and tests turned his stomach. 

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Peter made his way out of the bathroom. He felt exhausted, like he hadn’t slept at all, despite having gotten a few more hours of sleep than usual. There was something at the edges of his consciousness that wasn’t sitting right, and it was making him anxious. It was impossible to put his finger on, but the feeling unsettled him. 

A sudden ringing from his bedside table made him jump. By the time he realized it was just his cellphone, he was already upside down on the ceiling, grateful he’d remembered to shut the blinds so the neighbors couldn’t see. He dropped back down and grabbed the phone. The screen said ‘Rita’ so he picked up immediately. Sometimes she had Peter come in early because someone else had called in, so as he slid to answer, he jogged around looking for the pieces of his uniform scattered about the studio. 

“Hello?”

“Peter! Good morning, how are you?” She asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “Jackson came in today.” 

“Okay?” Peter said, pausing with one leg in his jeans. 

“He was not supposed to be here, but I am not telling him that!” At this, she laughed uproariously. Peter, still confused, gave an apprehensive chuckle. 

“Anyway, Peter, since we have Jackson today, we will not need to see you. Have a day off, okay?” 

“What?” Peter asked, sitting on the edge of his bed. “But I’m scheduled to close lunch?”

“Have a day off, querido. You work too hard.” And with that, she hung up. 

Peter looked at his phone screen in confusion. The background was an action shot of a much younger Spiderman swinging across the frame. Rita had called to say he wasn’t needed before, but never at the last minute like this. He didn’t know what to do with himself. One leg still in his jeans, he sat for several seconds just considering how to spend his unexpected free time. That’s when he noticed a text from Wade and opened it right away. 

‘Were they?’ It read. 

“Were what… what?” Peter asked aloud, then typed up the same thing and sent it. Wade’s response was almost automatic. 

‘Were your dreams sweet?’ He asked. Peter’s blush was so intense he felt like a cartoon character. Wade couldn’t possibly know he’d had a wet dream about a total stranger, could he? The shade was down, he’d already checked, so he couldn’t have been spying that way, and Peter’s sixth sense made it impossible for someone to come in secretly. 

Another chime from his phone, ‘Mine were.’ 

Not knowing how to respond, Peter closed the conversation. As confusing as the texts were, he was still happy to have gotten them. The only other person who had texted him lately was Dr. Banner, and that was strictly professional. He sighed. Maybe he was just overdue for some social interaction that didn’t involve refilling salsa bowls for strangers.   
Quickly pulling his jeans properly on, Peter found a shirt that didn’t have little cartoon Rita on it and grabbed his backpack. He shot a text off to Banner, ‘Got the day off. You around for a check-up?’ By the time Bruce responded, Peter was halfway to what used to be Stark Tower. 

After the nearly apocalyptic run in with Thanos, Stark Industries converted the property into a sort of lab. It was a huge undertaking and construction lasted almost a year, but when they were finished the skyscraper had state of the art labs on every floor ranging across all nuances of scientific study. Specialists from all over the world applied to work at the new Stark Tech Research Facility and they even offered an internship for high school and college students. Peter was one of the interns, of course, but with his studies nearing an end, he only went one day out of the week. It was often the highlight of his week since he got to stage his own experiments. 

Being there outside of work hours felt like trespassing, he thought. The keycard that granted him access to almost every floor of the building was dangling from his belt like it always was, only this time he didn’t have to back up into the censor and shake his backside since his arms weren’t overflowing with equipment. The familiar beep gave him access to the elevator and he shuffled inside and pressed the button for level sixty-two. Banner’s private lab. 

He had barely made it past the desk when a solemn looking security guard stepped forward with a small electronic scanner. Without permission or preamble, he aimed the scanner at Peter, took a full body sweep, then nodded to no one in particular and retreated back to the wall. A buzzer went off somewhere in the distance and Peter tried his best not to scrub his hand over his face. Social situations were getting harder and harder with age, it seemed. The few times Peter had been in this lab he had also been in his webslinger costume, so he was feeling over-exposed. 

“Peter!” Bruce rounded the sharp corner that led to his office and embraced Peter warmly. Not having The Monster around had lifted a weight off of Bruce. He was in better shape, much more relaxed, and had even grown a short beard. Peter liked him this way but couldn’t help missing his green buddy at times. 

“Hey, Doctor B.” Peter responded, clapping him on the back. 

“Right this way, Peter, and we’ll get started.” They walked together down the hall and into the pristine white lab with all its bubbling tubes and beeping machinery. Banner had set up a small area for seeing patients since it had become such a regular habit. Peter hopped up onto the small table and perched awkwardly on the edge. Doctors wigged him out. Between watching his Aunt die in a tiny beige room that reeked of disinfectant and the constant threat of his mutation being studied, Peter wanted nothing to do with doctors. 

“So, what’s been going on?” Dr. Banner asked, pulling on latex gloves and a white coat. He spoke with the calm bed side manner of a well seasoned medical professional. After all, he had helped patch up every Avenger on the roster over the years. His demeanor might have soothed another patient, but not this one. Peter cleared his throat and stared at his shoes.

“Well… a few days ago I was helping Strange with a few things and I got hit by this meteor thing...” He pulled his shirt up to show the bruise. “But what’s weird is, it’s taking forever to heal, and there’s another one on my back that I don’t remember getting.” 

Bruce looked at the bruising for a moment, pressing his fingertips lightly to the skin and then with slightly more force. Peter took a deep breath and tried his best not to cringe. Bruce walked around to see the other side, the bruise with no cause, and did the same thing. The sensation was the same both times; a slight twinge of pain but nothing serious.   
“It almost looks like… entry and exit wounds.” Bruce said slowly. Peter shook his head. 

“I wouldn’t have survived something like that.” 

“I mean,” Bruce went on, “That they match one another almost perfectly. Whatever caused the injury to your stomach, the exact image is replicated on your back.” 

“Weird.” Peter murmured. Banner sat down in his chair and wheeled away from the desk to Peter. 

“Has anything else been going on? Anything new?” 

“Not that I can think of.” 

“No other symptoms or abnormalities?”

“Um…” Peter thought. The dreams were new. The detail of them, the feeling. They were vivid in a way dreams had never been for Peter.

“What?” Banner asked. Peter’s ears turned red for what felt like the fifteenth time that day.

“I’ve been having these dreams.” He explained. He tried to explain them as best he could without embarrassing himself too much and Doctor Banner nodded and remained serious the entire time. Peter appreciated it, but he also couldn’t help but imagine the colorful remarks Tony would have made if he were here. He felt that a lot, the ghosts of his fallen friends. 

Banner did a full work up: blood, urine, and body scans. The MRI was the worst of all because Peter had to lie perfectly still. Bruce told Peter he would have the results soon, but to try not to worry too much. 

“You seem to be in good health.” He said. “A little skinny, but what else is new? If any new symptoms show up, let me know. Otherwise, you’re good for regular activities.”

“What about irregular activities?” Peter asked. 

“Just don’t patrol alone.” He suggested. “Just in case.”

-/-

“Thanks for coming out with me, man.” Spidey said. 

“No problem.” Deadpool replied. 

The night was boring for once. So much so that Peter was embarrassed to have asked Wade to tag along. They broke up two drunken bar fights, stopped a car thief, and walked a young woman home after intimidating her catcallers. 

“It’s good to have the dynamic duo back together!” Wade cheered. “’Ol Knives McGee and his trusty sidekick Bubble Butt: protecting the people of our fine city.” 

“First of all, self-burn since you called yourself old.” 

“Compared to you, I’m pre-historic.”

“Secondly. Why on Earth is my name Bubble Butt?! I can only imagine what kind of powers that guy would have.” 

“I fully believe you could subdue a bank robber with the power of That Ass alone. I stand by the name.” Wade said, nodding solemnly. 

“Weird. Flattering, I won’t lie, but weird.” 

They sat together in the grass near the turtle pond in Central Parl. Wade had scored a couple of burgers and they shared them while Wade ate all the fries. They each had their masks rolled up to the nose though Peter’s was pulled much further up to rest on the bridge of his nose. Grease ran down Peter’s ungloved fingers while he chewed. Wade hardly stopped to breathe. After a few moments of uncharacteristic silence, the burgers were gone. Wade balled up the paper bag and launched it at Peter. 

“Hey!” Peter shouted. “That’s friendly fire!” He lunged at Wade who easily evaded him. 

“Oh no!” Wade cried with mock concern. “Booty Man is here to punish me for my crimes!” 

“That’s Bubble Butt to you, criminal scum.” Peter responded, making a second attempt to capture the merc. 

“You’ll never take me alive, Ass Guy!” He rolled to his feet and took off. 

“W- Deadpool! You literally can’t die, you moron.” Peter went after him. He was still holding the paper ball Wade had thrown at him and he returned the favor, catching Wade in the back of the head. “Take that, evil doer!” 

Peter chased him through the park, both of them screaming and laughing like children. Eventually Peter got the jump on Wade when a stray duck came into the merc’s path (“Why the hell is that duck even awake?!”) and forced him to re-route. He tackled him hard, knowing he could withstand his super-strength, and they both immediately popped back up. Peter hadn’t meant to turn their post-patrol burgers into a sparing match, but here they were, both in defensive position. The energy was palpable and Peter kept his eyes trained to Wade’s core. 

Wade moved first, forgoing his weapons for some hand-to-hand action. The blow almost landed, but the right side of Peter’s skull lit up like Christmas and he dodged left. Wade’s bulk put him at a disadvantage in this case. Peter knew he couldn’t reach too far without compromising his balance, so Peter stayed back, forced Wade to move. He lifted his arm but instead of evading Wade clicked his tongue. 

“No webs.” He said. Peter would never get over the vast difference in Playful Wade and Killer Wade, nor did he know why the latter sent chills down his spine and hardened his nipples. 

“Fine. I’ll beat you the old-fashioned way.” 

“Fisticuffs?” Wade joked only to be forced into a back bend when Peter threw his first punch. Peter smirked at the shocked expression on Wade’s mask when he stood back up. He’d pulled it back down at some point. Peter became hyper aware that his was still rolled up. Could wade recognize him as Peter like this? He didn’t have time to answer since Wade chose that moment to perform the most complex areal kick Peter had ever backflipped away from. 

This went on for some time, until both their chests were heaving from effort and they collapsed back down to the ground. No one had landed a singled hit, but the practice had been beneficial for them both. Peter was thankful he never replaced his mask while he sucked in air. He rolled his head to the side to look at wade who was making exaggerated wheezing sounds while his massive chest rose and fell. Peter stared. Even through the Kevlar suit he could see the ripples of individual muscles that made up Wade’s torso and he traced them with his eyes. 

“Be careful looking at me like that.” Wade said, his voice dropping into that deep growl. “It gives a man ideas.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything, old man.” Peter said, snapping his eyes to the night sky so he wouldn’t be lying. His face flushed and he snatched the mask the rest of the way down. 

“It’s all good, baby boy. Just remember the wrapping is a lot more attractive that the content.” 

“Is that a thing you do?” Peter asked, propping up on an elbow. 

“Self-deprecating comments? Uh, yeah. I’ve been known to do that once or twice.” 

“Not that.” Peter rolled his eyes. “The other thing. The… calling people ‘baby boy’ or whatever.” 

Wade sat up quickly. 

“Spiderman, are you… are you jealous?” He asked incredulously. 

“What?!” Peter hopped to his feet. “No. Of what?! A nickname? That I don’t even like!”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I don’t! I hate it!” Peter insisted. Wade just watched him evenly from his lounging position in the grass. “It’s borderline sexual harassment! I-” 

“Spidey.” Wade said. Peter snapped his jaw shut. his face was so hot, sweat had started to gather at his brow. 

“Yeah?” He asked with extreme trepidation. For a moment, neither of them said anything, then Wade stuck his hand out for Peter to help him up. Peter complied, hoping his palms weren’t sweating. Outside of battle this was the most physical contact they’d been in. 

“Same time tomorrow?” Wade asked. 

“Sure. Same place?” 

“See you there.”


	5. Another Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade continue to grow close until SURPRISE: Wade ruins it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still writing this.   
TW in the Chapter Notes at the end. Might want to check those out.

_ “Nice place you got here.” Jack said. Peter blinked and looked around. It was his apartment, yes, but it was immaculately clean, and the lights were dimmed. Every surface was covered in candles which lit the small studio and created flickering shadows in the corners of the room. There was no furniture besides the bed._

_ “Thanks.” Peter responded dreamily. They sat together on the bench seat in front of the largest window in the room. Beyond the glass, rain pelted the sidewalk and the headlights of cars rushed by in the dark. _

_ “I love the rain.” Jack told him, looking out the window. “Rebirth and all that.” Peter smiled. Profile, Jack was even more stunning than Peter realized. His defined jaw had a haze of stubble across it that Peter was desperately trying not to reach out and touch. All of his features were carved from stone, the brow, the Roman nose, even the little bit of collarbone visible in the V of his button-down. Peter realized he must be staring and snapped his attention back to Jack’s face. Jack wore a cat-like smirk and Peter blushed. _

_ “Stop it.” Peter said. _

_ “Stop what?” Jack’s smirk only widened. _

_ “Stop looking at me like I’m edible.” His voice was small, and he found it hard to maintain eye contact. _

_ “Oh, Peter.” Jack said, cupped Peter’s face in one large, calloused hand. “You are absolutely edible.” They kissed until Jack pulled away abruptly. He got to his knees on the floor in front of Peter. With that ever-present smirk, Jack undid the button and took down Peter’s zipper. The usual embarrassment of being seen in such a compromising position was gone. Instead, Peter felt confident. He ran his thumb along Jack’s jawline and then used it to press between his lips. Jack obediently opened his mouth and Peter’s hand retreated to let him wrap his lips around Peter’s erection. He hummed in pleasure as Jack licked him from root to tip. Jack’s eyes were still trained on his face and he took him even further into his mouth. _

_ Peter moaned. He knew he wouldn’t last long. It was clear to him that Jack knew exactly what he was doing. Peter laced his fingers into Jack’s brown hair and tried to restrain himself from thrusting down his throat. His arousal built and built, and he watched Jack’s head bob, trying to hold back his orgasm. _

_ “Jack, you’re killing me.” He panted. Jack only increased his efforts. The pleasure was blinding. Peter thought his eyes might cross. He lost his composure and fucked Jack’s throat for a second before pulling out completely. _

_ “Best dream ever.” Jack said, his lips red and swollen. Peter jumped at the statement; their current activity momentarily forgotten. _

_ “Wait,” Peter shook his head. “You think this is your dream?”_

_ “How else would a guy like me get a night with you?” _

_ “A guy like you?” Peter guffawed. Jack was hot. Maybe the hottest guy Peter had ever seen. And it wasn’t surprising considering Peter’s brain knew what he liked. There was something familiar in his answer though, an unspoken quality Peter couldn’t put his finger on. _

_ It was on the tip of his tongue, but Jack’s tongue resumed its sinful endeavor and Peter lost his train of thought. _

-/-

Spiderman’s evening patrols became a team effort after that night in the park. The routine was comforting for Peter. It had been a while since someone existed in his life with such consistency. Aunt May, now gone, and then Tony, also gone. Rita was the closest thing he had to a friend (excluding the remaining Avengers Peter hardly ever saw anymore) and she was his boss. 

It had only been five days since their three a.m. sparring match. Peter was patrolling more often than he usually would and it was exhausting in the best way. Every night he fully intended to tell Deadpool that he needed a day off and yet every night when Deadpool asked him, “Same time tomorrow?” he heard himself answer in the affirmative. 

Peter would have been able to handle it if he felt like he was getting adequate sleep, but the dreams had become a nightly thing as well and despite getting a full seven hours he awoke tired each day. He couldn’t decide if the lack of sleep was worth it, but sometimes it defiantly felt like it was. The memories of Jack filled him with a warmth he might call happiness. Who cares who thought he was dreaming who? That line of inquiry dissipated as quickly as the dream itself when Peter came. 

Wade was more present as well. He ate at Rita’s almost every night and each time he requested Peter. The nervousness and fear of being caught had faded significantly and Peter was finding it easier and easier to talk to Wade without stammering. Most days Peter closed the dinner shift and Wade walked him home, always jokingly stopping a block away to make Peter feel bad about that first night only to refuse to enter the building when they arrived. 

Day six of Patrol-a-Palooza Peter was twenty minutes from finishing his shift at Rita’s. Wade was in his usual seat with the light bulb above him unscrewed. Even after a week of waiting on him, Peter had yet to see much of his face. He ate with gloves on and replaced his mask as soon as he possibly could. Peter tried his best not to take offence. After all, Spiderman hadn’t seen much either, just a heavily scarred jawline and thin smile. 

“Can I get you anything else?” Peter asked Wade who had just finished his second order of churro flavored ice cream. 

“I’d say your number, but I already have that.” Wade responded easily. Peter smiled, rolling his eyes. 

“I’ll grab the check.” He turned to head back into the kitchen when a man across the room snapped his fingers pointedly in Peter’s direction. 

“Hey!” He shouted. “Hey, kid, come on! I need another round.” He held up a mostly empty pint glass and Peter fixed his smile forcibly into place. He approached the table.

“The first seven haven’t hit the spot?” Peter asked jokingly. The man laughed uproariously, swaying in his chair. 

“Not quite there yet.” He slurred. He wasn’t alone at the table, though he was the most inebriated one there. Peter counted the empty glasses on the table. Seven had been too low a guess. He shifted his weight for an indecisive moment. In training, Rita had been very clear on the concept of ‘over-serving’ customers. This man had definitely hit that threshold. 

“Sorry, man, but restaurant policy says you’ve had enough.” Peter said, trying not to look at his own shoes. 

“Come on!” The man shouted, brow furrowing deeply. 

“I’m sorry.” Peter tried again. “The bars are always open until four though. There’s a little pub a block up fro-” The man stood up, his chair flying back into the wall with a clatter. 

“Just get me a fucking beer, kid!” He was red in the face from effort. “It’s not that hard.” Peter squared his shoulders. He wanted to look back at Wade, make sure he was still in the booth, but forced himself not to. 

“Sir,” he began in a clear and confident tone. “You’ve already had too much to drink. I’d be happy to get you a cup of coffee on the house if you’ll just have a seat.” 

“Have a seat? I ain’t a fuckin’ kindergartener. I’m a paying customer, fuck it all!” He came around the table too quickly and Peter took a reflexive step back. The guy was huge. Taller than Wade and built big as well, with broad shoulders and a round chest. He had the weight advantage here. 

“Sir-”

“Stop with all that bullshit!” He roared. “You little bitch!” he grabbed Peter by his shirt, hauling him up off the ground. Peter’s hands wrapped around the drunk man’s wrists as he held them nose to nose. His spidey sense was going wild. Behind him he heard Wade rise from his booth, heavy boots thumping on the floorboards. “Don’t call me that again you little fuck!”

“Put him down, jackass.” Wade said while walking. Peter dangled there, panicking. He didn’t want Wade intervening again. He could handle this. The man shook Peter roughly.   
“I’ll put him down when he agrees to go and get me another-”

-CRACK-

Peter used the leverage he had on the man’s wrists to heft himself up and ram his skull into the man’s nose. He was dropped, falling backwards into the surprised arms of Wade who hooked him under the armpits and just held him there, stunned. The drunk man lay on the floor unconscious, blood poured from his nose. He didn’t move.

“Shit.” Peter whispered. He had tried to go easy. After all, he didn’t want to kill the guy, and his strength would certainly allow him to. “Fuck, is he okay?” 

“Strong Boy strikes again!” Wade declared, setting Peter gently on his feet and going over to check out the fallen man. 

“Shit.” Peter said again. The other people at the table all started talking at once, one of them going to the man’s side and holding a bundle of napkins to his bleeding face. She turned him on his side so that he wouldn’t choke on his own blood. 

“You broke his nose!” She said incredulously, looking up at Peter. Peter’s mouth flapped open and shut but no words came out. 

“You’re lucky that’s all he broke.” Wade interjected. “This fartlicker put his hands on someone less than half his own size. Looks like he got more than he expected!” He laughed. 

Hell had broken loose in the dining room and Peter stood stupefied in the middle of it. Other servers ran over to see what the commotion was, several diners had their phones out filming everything, someone was on the phone with the police. He felt hot, like an organism under a microscope. 

“I’m sorry.” Peter blurted out before turning and sprinting into the kitchen. He went straight to Rita’s office, avoiding the eyes of the confused kitchen staff. To his surprise she was already on the phone, talking a mile a minute in Spanish. Peter had taken French in high school, so he had no idea what she was saying, but it was obviously about what had just happened. She gestured to the chair opposite her desk and he took a seat, pulling his legs up to his chest. After a few more minutes she hung up the phone. 

“Sorry, Peter. That was the police.” She told him. “It is easier to do in Spanish, you know?” 

“Of course.” He responded. 

“I told them you have left already.” Rita said. “So, tomorrow morning come in early and they will be here to listen to your side. I have already gotten the security video for them.” 

“Okay…” He felt hollow. 

“Peter, _Querido_.” Rita put a hand on his shoulder, her deep brown eyes sympathetic. “You were defending yourself! No one is mad at you. Well, maybe the _pendejo_ on the floor is mad, but we do not care about that.” She smiled. 

“I think I hit him too hard.” Peter said numbly. 

“No, he grabbed you and he threatened you. You should have hit him harder. I would have.” She shook him a bit by the shoulders. “Now go and tell your man to take you home.” Peter guffawed, thawing out long enough to give Rita a scandalized look. 

“My man?!” He asked perhaps too loudly. 

“Your scary costume _amigo_.” She clarified innocently. Peter nodded, eyes still wide. 

“Okay. Thanks.” He stood up and Rita pulled him in for a quick hug. By the time he stumbled back into the dining room Wade was ready for him. They hurried out the back exit and into the alleyway by the dumpsters. The fresh air was revitalizing, and Peter’s lungs couldn’t get enough. 

“That was amazing!” Wade whooped, fist pumping through the air. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. 

“I hit him too hard.” Peter said slowly. Wade scoffed. 

“That lady doesn’t know what she's talking about. His nose wasn’t broken. And besides, he deserved it!” Wade ruffled Peter’s hair roughly with a gloved hand. 

“He didn’t deserve brain damage, Wade.” Peter sighed. “I fucked up. I was so afraid you would step in and, you know…”

“Shishkebob him?” 

“If we’re being graphic, yes. I panicked and I acted too quickly.” He covered his face with his hands. 

“Shit, baby boy.” Wade whistled. “You really have a savior complex, huh? The motherfucker was asking for it and you delivered. Simple as that. Anyone half decent would agree.” 

“I guess.” 

“Hey.” Wade pulled his hands away from his face. “Can I ask you something?” Peter’s shoulders drew up. Even at a time like this his mind went straight to calculating the distance between their mouths. 

“S-sure, I guess.” He responded. Wade broke away from him and ducked behind the dumpster, popping back out with a piece of rebar. 

“Would you show me what you can do exactly? I know you’re Strong Boy and all, but I’m dying to know just how strong.” He offered the metal bar to Peter with an obviously hopeful look on his mask. Peter hesitated. 

“I don’t know…” 

“Please? I promise it will be our little secret.” Wade wiggled the bar at Peter. “Pretty, pretty please?” 

“Jesus.” Peter snatched the bar, laughing. “I can tell you’re batting your eyelashes under there, you Looney Toon.” He took a deep breath and looked around to make sure they were alone. 

“Oh my god, you’re going to do it. I'm so excited!” Wade shook his hands and hopped from foot to foot like a kid on Christmas morning. 

“You just watched me concuss a man and you're excited?” 

“Um, yes. Now do the thing!” 

Peter sighed and looked around again. Once he was sure they weren’t visible to anyone else he gripped either end of the bar and bent inwards. It wasn’t easy like it would be for other supers, but it got the job done. The metal creaked in protest but curved into a capital U. Wade was transfixed. Peter overlapped the ends and pulled until the loop was about two inches in diameter. 

“Happy?” Peter asked, holding it aloft. 

“More like horny.” Wade responded. Peter laughed and dropped the bar back onto the concrete. 

“Now let’s never discuss this again.” He said with finality. 

“Oh, baby boy, you know that’s not going to happen. Not now that I know what you’re capable of.” His voice was different. Not as light, but not Angry Wade either. Peter shrugged. 

“Can we go now?” He asked. Wade looped his arm through Peter’s in response, and they started off up the sidewalk. 

They walked quietly for almost an entire block before Wade couldn’t help himself. The energy shift was obvious even if Peter didn’t know what it had shifted to.

“You’re unregistered.” Wade began. 

“I’m going to headbutt you next if you don’t drop this.” 

“Ugh, if only.” Wade moaned. Peter shoved him away, breaking their hold on one another. 

“Pervert.”

“So did your powers not come until later?” 

“Wade!”

“Come on! One unregistered mute to another, how did you manage to slip past the authorities this long?” He asked. When Peter didn’t respond he sighed exasperatedly. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“I was just starting high school.” He admitted. Best to be vague, he thought. “No one knew for a really long time. Then the ones who found out… they're not around anymore.”

“Ooh, tragic backstory.” Wade whispered. Peter rolled his eyes. 

“Well, I am an orphan.” He sighed. 

“Lucky you.” Wade shot back bitterly. “Dead parents are better than my parents. I didn’t get powers until later either, way later. And even then, I didn’t ask for them.” Peter kept his mouth shut. The dossier explained Weapon X’s involvement in Wade’s transformation as ‘forced experimentation.’ He didn’t intend to ask. 

“Anyway, at least your powers didn’t fuck up your pretty face.” 

“Your powers did that?” He asked with genuine curiosity. 

“The process of getting them did. Let me tell you, zero out of ten stars, do not recommend.” He gave a thumbs down and blew a raspberry behind the mask. “But I must admit, there’s nothing quite like running into battle with absolutely no concern for self-preservation. I’d say you should try it, but I don’t think you’re as durable as I am.” 

By now they could see Peter’s building. Wade started to drag his feet. Peter felt a similar reluctance to reach the destination. Wade rambled on strong about superpowers and mutations and Peter let him until they reached his stoop. 

“Well, thanks for walking me home.” He said awkwardly. Wade rubbed the back of his head, flexing his broad chest. Peter aggressively didn’t look. 

“Thanks for the show back at Rita’s.” Wade responded with a laugh. Peter turned red. He walked up a few steps and then wheeled around to face Wade, chest full of air and false confidence. 

“Hey, um… Do you want to come up to-”

“Peter that’s not a good-”

“-the roof?” 

“Roof?” Wade repeated like he had never heard the word. 

“I know the light pollution is bad, but we could see a surprising amount of starts from up there. It’s one of my favorite places.” Peter explained. “We have to go up the fire escape though. So, um, you will have to come into my apartment.” Wade dragged the toe of his boot over the concrete. He thought for a few seconds too long, leaving Peter to stew in the silence. 

“Sure, kid. Let’s see some starts.” 

They went inside the building together, Wade hugging the wall instinctively to avoid the security cameras. Peter didn’t point out that they were just for show and not plugged into anything. Since there was no elevator, they had to walk up the several flights of stairs to reach the door of Peter’s studio. Wade commented on this and that along the way; between criticizing the wallpaper and counting the spider webs in the corners of the ceiling. Peter could hardly respond he was so nervous. Thankfully, he had picked up all of the laundry littering his floor, but he still wished it were tidier. When he opened the door, Wade hesitated at the threshold, surveying the room. 

“What are you, a vampire?” Peter asked lamely, cringing at his attempt at casual humor. Wade looked caught off guard. Surprised by something maybe. Probably how shitty his place was, Peter thought. 

“I don’t sparkle, baby boy.” He stepped inside and it dwarfed the apartment. Peter suddenly felt as if his room were miniature. Wade just took up so much space that it made the ceiling look lower. 

“The window sticks.” Peter said, pointing to it. Wade cracked his knuckles and crossed the studio in a few strides, unlocking the window and easily sliding it open. He looked back at Peter for a second before lowering his frame through it and onto the metal fire escape. Peter followed him at a respectful distance, trying to stop his hands from sweating. 

When he reached the top of the ladder Wade was there with his hand extended. Peter took it and ignored the thrill of touching Wade. 

“There’s a bench over here.” Peter suggested, walking around the rooftop and taking a seat. Wade came with him but stayed standing, looking up at the sky already. 

“Damn, I see what you mean.” he said. Peter watched his profile as he stared up into space. “I bet you can name all these motherfuckers, huh? Orion, the Dippers, all that shit.”

“Some of it, yeah.” Peter had yet to look at the sky. 

“You’re smart like that.” Wade joked easily. “You’ve got a melon full of constellations and I’ve got a bucket of bullshit.” Peter stood up. He didn’t miss the way that Wade stiffened. His eyes stayed trained on Ursa Major, but he was more than aware of Peter’s movements. 

“Wade…” Peter said quietly. Wade didn’t budge. Peter crossed to him slowly, as if not to scare a wild animal. “Wade, look at me.” They were directly in front of one another now, only a few feet between them. 

“No.” Wade responded. “Stop doing what you're doing.” His voice had lost its light quality and Peter’s breath caught momentarily in his throat. He stepped even closer. 

“Wade, please look at me.” Peter asked again. Wade’s head dropped to look at his feet. 

“Stop saying my name like that.” He pleaded. Peter moved even closer. They were nearly touching. 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m a real person.” The words fell out of Wade involuntarily, but Peter wasn’t shocked by them. He reached up slowly to place his hands on either side of Wade’s face.

“Look at me,” He said for the third time. “_Wade_.” 

Wade looked up and met his eyes and Peter hooked his thumbs under the mask. He paused there, waiting to be pulled away, but Wade’s masked eyes stayed level with his and he made no attempt to stop him. Peter folded the fabric up over Wade’s mouth. Wade’s breath came even faster. His anxiety was palpable. He started to speak and Peter lunged forward to stop him, scared of losing this opportunity and selfishly pushing forward. 

They came together like magnets. Peter barely had time to take in the sight of Wade’s face up close before their mouths were moving against one another. As hesitant as he had been, Wade took the lead quickly. He snaked one arm around Peter’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together, and the other hand he carded into Peter’s hair. 

It was hands down the best kiss of Peter’s life. He felt electric, on fire. There was so much energy coursing through him he pressed up onto his tiptoes to try and get more of Wade. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice the texture of Wade’s skin. The kiss opened and Peter drew his tongue across Wade’s lip. They were thin and felt chapped under his touch. His right hand remained on Wade’s face where it had been before he made his move, his left curled around wade’s wrist for leverage. He was still dying for more. He moaned into it and Wade’s grip tightened almost painfully at the sound, then Wade pulled away roughly. 

“Son of a bitch, Peter.” Wade huffed. “You’re a bold little thing, huh? Just like I dreamed.” Somewhere in the back of Peter’s mind he connected the word dream to Jack and felt a hollow sort of guilt. He had to remind himself that Jack was not real, and Wade was. Wade was so very, very real and solid under Peter’s hands. 

“You dream about me?” Peter asked coyly. He made a disappointed sound when Wade gently pulled away from him the rest of the way. 

“Almost every night.” He said, crossing to the edge of the building and leaning to look over the ledge. “That sounded less disturbing in my head. Not that that’s saying much! Everything in there is pretty… disturbing.” 

“Wade, what are you doing?” Peter asked, genuinely concerned but still weak in the knees from that kiss. Wade had climbed up onto the ledge and taken his gun from its holster on his hip. 

“Back in the day I had this teacher,” Wade began. “and every time she would give us a test we got one question for free. All we had to do was write in ‘mulligan.’ I think it’s a golf reference, but of course who gives a fuck about golf. No one.” He weighed the gun in his hand, then went through the routine of checking the clip, chamber, and safety. 

“Wade… You’re scaring me.” Peter’s eyes were fixed on the gun. 

“I don’t have a lot of time.” Wade said briskly. “So I’ll try and keep the usual blabber to a minimum. When I die, I lose the last five minutes or so of memory. And while I want to play that kiss on a loop until the world ends or I run out of spunk, you’re going to wake up in the morning mortified at the thought of it.”

“What?!” Peter shouted. “Wade, what the fu-”

“So!” He continued. “I’m giving you a mulligan, kid. You might still have the unpleasant memory of kissing a homicidal maniac with skin like a blistered foot, but you won’t have me breathing down your neck for another taste. Ignorance is bliss and all.” 

“I kissed you, you idiot!” Peter pointed out. “I clearly wanted it, I still want it! Wade, get down.” 

“I don’t have time to argue.” Wade raised the gun to his temple. 

“Wade, if you fucking kill yourself in front of me, I never want to see you again!” 

“That’s the idea, baby boy.” Wade said serenely. 

“NO!”

-BANG-

Wade shot himself at an angle, through the temple and up out the top of his head. His body collapsed backwards into thin air, falling all the way down to the alleyway below. Peter lunged for him, knowing he was already gone and still catching the tips of his gloved fingers before feeling them jerk roughly from his grip. Wade had been smiling, his perfect teeth on display, but now all Peter could think about was what the inside of his skull looked like as it arced through the air and fell out of sight. 

He puked before he knew it was coming, right over the edge where Wade now lay broken and battered. His superpowers allowed him to see the gore in great detail despite the dark. Wade’s bones had all broken. He lay like a marionette without strings in a pool of blood and matter. Peter stared down at him for what felt like hours. When he finally lifted himself onto shaking feet and started back downstairs, he thought of the kiss and felt his stomach turn violently. 

Maybe Wade was right, Peter thought. Getting close had been a terrible idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
Blood  
Assault  
Concussion   
Sexual Content   
Suicide

**Author's Note:**

> Though I have a loose outline, I'm not sure where exactly this is going. It's the first time in a while I've been inspired to write, so I'm letting it go where it will. All comments are appreciated.


End file.
